


What you fear the most

by squire



Series: Form, Truth, and Regret [1]
Category: Ayakashi (Japanese Classic Horror), Mononoke, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, Sherlock - Ayakashi/Mononoke crossover, The one where Sherlock is a demon hunter, bromance or preslash, canon timeline non-compliant, episode The Blind Banker, episode Umi Bozu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 14:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of seemingly unrelated people gets caught in a closed museum after nightfall. It doesn't help the situation that they have the odd, disturbing, definitely not safe Sherlock Holmes in their midst.</p><p>When the demons come, Sherlock Holmes might be their only hope. </p><p> </p><p>BBC Sherlock crossover with the Umi Bozu arc of the Mononoke anime - a spin-off to the Ayakashi Japanese Classic Horror series. Sherlock Holmes is the modern day Kusuriuri. I regret nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read. Not corrected for grammar. You can't expect anyone to help me with this silliness.

The straight-back chair was digging into John’s back rather uncomfortably towards the end; he shifted a bit to ease the constant pressure under his shoulder blades, trying not to look awkward. Sitting alone in the second row of chairs, he felt a tad exposed, and he envied the young man in the hindmost row, almost invisible in the darkened room, using this fact to his advantage and having a good nap. 

This lecture has been the last installment of the Museum’s week action ‘Gods, demons and spirits: many variations of the same tune’ that revolved around the portrayal of supernatural elements in art history. Since Mike has called off the pint for tonight, John had really nowhere better to go – and though Dr. Anderson’s presentation was prissy and a bit on the dry side at best, some of the amulets he showed throughout the evening were interesting – especially that little jade hairpin that was believed to ward off bewitchment and that had allegedly belonged to a Chinese Empress whose name John didn’t catch, well, that one was nice. John could imagine buying something like that to his girlfriend. That is, to the girlfriend he was about to find. Tomorrow. This week, for sure. The lecturer clearly didn’t believe in witchcraft at all but John was sure he was having a sort of a dry spell lately – well, living in a wretched little bedsit instead of a proper flat didn’t help the matter when it came to the possibility of getting laid – but John believed that things would get better. They could only get better. 

So John sat quietly and patiently through the flicking of slides and in his mind, he sorted through memories of his own encounter with a demon. It seemed so surreal now – especially when underscored by the tedious narrative of the lecturer. John wondered what would a ‘man of science’ like Dr. Anderson do if he were caught at Baskerville at the time when the demonic hound appeared, haunting the base and killing the staff until a mysterious man came out of nowhere and slew the demon – with John at his side as his impromptu assistant. 

He was roused from his reverie by the sound of hands clapping – the end, finally. 

“Wonderful lecture!” the young man exclaimed, his enthusiasm only justified by the fact that he slept through the better part of it. 

“No, not at all,” Dr. Anderson bowed with false modesty and looked around, probably noticing for the first time how few listeners he actually had. 

“Well then, I see it took all sorts to gather here today. Wouldn’t it be interesting to introduce ourselves? I like to have a discussion at the end of my lectures and it would be much easier that way.” 

It seemed to John as the least English thing to do, to share his name and profession with a bunch of complete strangers, but then he could hear his psychotherapist talking – trust issues, John – and decided to play along. 

“I’ll go first, to set the good example,” Dr. Anderson said in something of a haste. “As you no doubts figured out by now, my field of expertise are ancient tales. You might say, centuries ago, I would be a minstrel. Or a demon hunter,” he laughed half-heartedly. 

“Now you, sir?” he nodded to a silver haired man at the end of the front row. “Would you honour us with your name?”

The man looked even more out of his element than John as he answered with obvious reluctance: “Greg Lestrade. Detective Inspector with the Met. I’m off duty,” he added at the hint of panic in Anderson’s eyes. “Unless you’ve murdered someone within your lectures?” John decided he liked this man. 

The over-eager young man from behind John jumped in, nodding to his companion, a quiet, reserved Chinese girl with beautiful eyes and face like carved out of marble: “This is Soo-Lin Yao, expert in Chinese pottery. We work here at the Museum, and we, um, kinda dropped by. I’m Andy Galbraith, a... I’m Soo-Lin’s colleague. Right.” 

If you ever want to be more than a colleague to her, you better stop making such puppy eyes on her all the time, John thought to himself. 

“And what about you, sir?”

“Oh, I’m John. John Watson. I used to work as a security guard in the Baskerville base–” 

“Do you mean the Baskerville base?” Andy cried out excitedly. “The one with the dog? I read about it in the papers–”

“Oh, let’s not plague this academic ground with fames based on superstitions and fueled by tabloids,” Dr. Anderson interrupted him, not even trying to hide the annoyance. “There’s no such thing as a supernatural gigantic dog...”

In his pocket, John’s phone vibrated with incoming text message. He ignored it for now. Aloud he said: “I was here on a job interview for a position with the security, and then I stayed for, um, this.”

When John sat down, he checked the message. It read a single word: Wrong.

John smiled and quickly sneaked glances around, searching through the half-shadows. He knew the number – he’s came into contact with its owner once before, and the time has been unforgettable. 

The DI, quick in observation as he should be, too noticed a figure, leaning casually against one of the pillars: “I think we’ve missed a listener!”

John’s smile grew wider. “Sherlock! It’s been a while!” The tall man peeled himself off the pillar and approached them with measured, graceful strides. 

“I’d never say I’d see you on a popular lecture on demons,” John added. 

“What, now? Are you a mythologist as well?” Dr. Anderson was of the kind who gets irritated easily. His question was met with calm:

“Just a consultant on the matter. The name’s Sherlock Holmes.” 

He didn’t elaborate on the consulting bit as he took a seat next to John, sparing him a hint of pleased smile. 

“You look far too much excited to see me, John. Missed the danger, have you?”

God, yes, John thought but remained silent. 

Dr. Anderson fumbled with the slide projector settings. “Well, then. Any questions?”

Sherlock sniffed the air. Loudly. Dr. Anderson rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, actually.” It was Lestrade. “It’s past Museum’s closing time. How are we supposed to get out?”

“No worries,” Dr. Anderson rubbed his palms together. “I’ve arranged that with the security. I got this ID–” he pointed to the ID card dangling from his shirt pocket “–there’s a chip that will pass as a key at the doors on our way out. I had to sign a form that I’ll return it the first thing tomorrow,” he winked. “You’re safe with me, go on, ask away!” 

John leaned in to Sherlock and whispered: “Are you expecting any demons to show up?” 

Sherlock’s appeared totally uninterested. “Why?”

“You know, to kill them.”

“There are millions of them.” His grey eyes were ethereal and unfocused. “I could try to kill them all if I wanted, but I would never get them all.”

“Do you have that sword of yours with you? Would you be able to draw it for me?”

Sherlock seemed neither amused nor annoyed by John’s curiosity. He answered gravely: “I cannot. In order to draw it, the demon’s Form, Truth and Regret – his shape, origin and reasoning – must be evident.” 

Dr. Anderson grew finally angry at the whispering. “For someone who chose such mysterious entree, your addition to our debate isn’t very impressive, Mr. Holmes.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare to exploit your competence,” Sherlock deadpanned. John nearly giggled.

“No questions, anyone?” Dr. Anderson tried one last time. “Okay, then, let’s....” He began gathering his things awkwardly, and John helped Andy with stacking the chairs back to the wall. The group headed to the door, now closed automatically. Anderson drew his card through the scanner on the side. The red light blinked and stayed. Two more attempts – still no change. “Eh... it’s not working.”

“Oh, bollocks!” Andy Galbraith pushed past him to the door. “See, let me, perhaps– oh. Mine’s not working too. Soo-Lin? Please, could you?”

Silently, Soo-Lin drew her card through the scanner, but it seemed that the damned thing wasn’t willing to cooperate tonight.

Sherlock’s breath ghosted over John’s ear: “If you ever wanted to shout abuse at a piece of machinery, now would be a good time...”


	2. Part 1

“Are we trapped?” The DI, accustomed to be in charge, took the initiative, pointing at Galbraith and Ms. Yao. “You two, you surely have a number for the security or for the department’s head or something like–”

John checked his phone automatically only to realise that he’s got no signal. Strangely enough, nobody’s phone seemed to have but a single bar. And yet John remembered receiving Sherlock’s text earlier...

Sherlock sucked in the air again, sniffing. John felt as if there was a draught. Where from, with the doors closed and no windows whatsoever? He heard Lestrade knocking on the solid wood of the door and saying: “The security guys would be doing walk-arounds, won’t they? Well, as soon one comes within earshot–”

“No one will come.” Sherlock interspersed his theories quietly but resolutely. Anderson turned on him, badly masking an open accusation in his voice: “You were saying?”

Sherlock lifted his chin. “Oh, you do see, but you don’t observe. The electronic lock mechanism has been obviously tampered with.” He pointed to the side of the casing, which hung a bit loose, and when he opened it, they could see that the chip board has been disconnected and the red light visible earlier was in fact an automatic light indicating system failure.

“The door is locked from outside. Whoever locked us in has also assured that we stay in – that nobody would perchance find us.”

“But this electronic gadget had to be tampered with from inside!” Lestrade objected. “I distinctly remember a green light on it when I went through the door on my way in.”

“Who on Earth would want to trap us in a Museum lecture room?” John said in the same moment when Andy Galbraith squeaked: “But that– it means, it was one of us?”

As on cue, an ominous sound of drums reverberated the air. Soo-Lin startled and her shoulders hunched. She looked like a cornered animal, muttering something of a prayer in Chinese, her eyes wide and upset. 

“Is this a demon?” John asked, looking around for the source of all that drumming. 

“If so, then a practically harmless one. Hearing the sound of drums does very little damage to one’s person,” Sherlock said, half-way between soothing and mocking.

“Okay, enough!” Dr. Anderson barked out. “Do be reasonable. There’s no need to scare this young lady with a creepy demon talk.” He actually looked quite scared himself.

“And if – and I repeat if – they did, well, who else than a mythologist would be better suited to exorcise and destroy them?”

“Who indeed.” The sarcasm in Sherlock’s voice could cut glass. Nobody paid him notice, though, because the ground shattered suddenly, nearly knocking everyone off their feet. 

“What the hell!” Andy clung to Soo-Lin before he remembered that he would look more chivalrous if he appeared to protect her. 

“This is just a bad joke, surely, nothing more–”

“Be calm, Andy. The demons prey on those weak of mind and soul.” She said it with the soul deep conviction that demons do exist. John realised that it was for the first time she spoke aloud, in a deep, melodic voice laced with fear.

“John?” 

John looked around to find Sherlock crouched on the floor, in front of the large bag he left by the pillar earlier. He opened it to pick up a few things that John recognized immediately.

“Your scales!” Unable to suppress a delighted smile, John balanced one of the intricately painted, delicate scales on his fingertip. It felt nice to see something familiar amidst the imminent madness. 

Anderson’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. “S–Scales? What, may I ask, is to be weighed?”

John caught Sherlock’s nod and explained: “These scales measure distance, not weight.” 

“Distance to what?”

“To something not of this Earth.” Sherlock’s brow furrowed as he watched the scales, aligned on the floor, silent and unmoving.

Dr. Anderson rolled his eyes. “Great, now you’ll drag the aliens into it–”

The ceiling cracked open in a cloud of scattered plaster and a huge, rock-like mass caved in. It pulsed with golden flares and there seemed to be movements under the surface, like thousand snakes caught in a bag. 

The good scientist promptly forgot that he wasn’t supposed to believe in supernatural. “Is–is this a demon?” he screamed. “I had no idea they were so huge!” 

Sherlock was watching it with something akin to wonder in his eyes, and a great dollop of amusement played around his lips when he said: “Whether we decide to kill it, or display it in this Museum, it will require some finesse.” 

The rational part of John told him that it probably wasn’t very on to grin in the anticipation of excitement like he did. “In case you’ll decide to kill it, I think that the Form is taken care of.” 

Sherlock slowly shook his head and pointed to the ornamental sheath of the sword in his hand. “The sword isn’t responding. This is not the demon’s true Form.” 

The rock above them roared like herd of bulls being slaughtered at once and then, from somewhere in its middle, daggers sprung and started flying haphazardly through the room, each attached to seemingly endless barbed wire. The wire criss-crossed the room and soon enough there was a cage, slowly but surely closing on the small number of people in its middle. 

“What does it want?” Andy wailed. 

Sherlock’s grin was borderline manic. “Us to join it.”

Dr. Anderson suddenly snapped out of his stupefied staring and jerked into movement. “Oh! Ashes!” he exclaimed. “Quickly – matches, someone? Does anyone have a box of matches?”

“What for?” Lestrade produced a box from his pocket.

Anderson set to work with shaking fingers. “A full one! Thank goodness!” 

“Thank goodness that I’m trying to quit smoking,” Lestrade murmured and Sherlock quirked a sympathetic smile, rubbing his own forearm absentmindedly. Anderson laid the matches on the floor, assembling a circle around them. Seeing what he’s about to do, John helped him, flashing reproachful glares to Sherlock who watched the proceedings with detached interest. Once the circle was complete, Anderson struck a match and lighted as many as he could. Soon, they were surrounded with an unbroken circle of ash. 

“Why ashes?”

Anderson bloated with pride. “Wood ash. It wards off the demons. Really, any mythologist worth his salt–”

Right then, one of the blades flew between them, separating Soo-Lin and Andy from the others. “It didn’t do anything!” Andy cried out in dismay.

“The wood ash was contaminated by the phosphorus concoction from the matches. It won’t work, obviously.” Sherlock announced the fact as if he was in the middle of an academic debate. 

“Sherlock, for God’s sake!” John pleaded. “Stop being a smart-arse and do something!”

The blades began to cut into the floor around them, the wires hooking under. It seemed that the demon wais about to drag them upwards and swallow them. 

“Well, as any demon hunter worth his salt...” Sherlock smirked, grabbed his bag and set to work, mixing some substances and grinding them into a grayish powder. He acted completely unaffected by the imminent danger. Above them, the darkness gaped. 

“Drugs won’t work on demons!” Anderson protested. Sherlock laughed.

“Oh, you did your research, I see.” 

“Then what is it?” John asked. 

“The demons are creatures of darkness. This one waited for the dusk, for the Museum to close, for the lights go out. However...” Sherlock poured the powder into a bowl and lifted one of the left-over matches, scattered forgotten at his feet. He instructed urgently:

“Close your eyes. Don’t open it. You’d be blinded.” 

John heard the match being struck, the sharp hiss of a chemical reaction and even through his closed eyelids he registered the flash of bright light, flooding the room. When he dared to open his eyes, they were back in a room as if nothing had happened. The demon was gone and there wasn’t a single crack in the ceiling. 

“That... was amazing,” he breathed out.

“You’re not a consultant, are you?” Dr. Anderson said accusatorily. 

“Are...are we saved?” Andy Galbraith looked around with dazed eyes.

“The door’s still locked,” Soo-Lin whispered.

Faint, but distinct clatter of chains sounded in the distance. Everyone jumped.Andy lost his nerve again. 

“But why? Why do we have to be here?”

“Why indeed?” Lestrade asked sharply. “Who manipulated the lock? Who is attracting the demons?”

Dr. Anderson sneered at Sherlock: “Him! It’s his doing, so he could...yes, so he could show off!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” John silenced him. “It’s Sherlock’s job to kill demons, why would he want to encourage one? He’s the last one here–”

John was interrupted by Sherlock quiet chuckling. When he looked at him, he found Sherlock staring entranced into his bag, muttering: “I wonder, what demon comes next? I’ve used up all my magnesium powder...”

“Are you – are you enjoying yourself?” John’s disbelief quickly morphed into anger. “Sherlock, this is not a game! There are actual human lives at stake, my own included!”

Sherlock didn’t seem to listen, just hummed to himself contentedly. John sighed in exasperation. Then he thought: After all, this happy-slash-manic Sherlock was a good sign. He’s ever seen him disconcerted and dead serious once, back at Baskerville, and that was right before he was attacked by the demonic dog.


	3. Part 2

A moment of quiet, but not of serenity, stretched around the party, itching with anticipation. DI Lestrade tried shaking off some of the tension by checking the room for escape routes – to no avail. Dr. Anderson checked his phone periodically, even when the only real outcome of his doing so was the wearing down of the phone battery. Andy Galbraith concentrated on some calming breathing techniques and Soo-Lin Yao sat by the door like a statue, barely breathing at all. 

Sherlock Holmes was sitting on the floor, back ramrod straight, unseeing eyes turned inwards – obviously contemplating something inside his ‘Mind Palace’. John watched him and let his thoughts wander. 

‘Sherlock did indeed exorcise the Hound from Baskerville...but Stapleton, Frankland and Barrymore were all killed. Just who did he save, in the end? Whose side is he on?’

John’s uneasy thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock’s deep rumble: “Stop thinking, John, you’ll do yourself harm. I can hear the wheels grinding.”

“Very funny, Mr. High Functioning.” He dropped beside Sherlock who spared him minimal attention.

“Not that you’d tell me the truth but let me ask anyway – you didn’t lock us in here, did you?”

“I wonder.” Sherlock quirked his upper lip to show that he noticed – and appreciated – the look of indignation on John’s face, before he added: “Even if it wasn’t me, the fact remains that we’re here. And the demons are here as well.”

The sword rattled a bit in its sheath, eliciting a clinking, melodic sound. 

John wasn’t about to hide his fascination with the thing. “Is that sword actually alive?”

“I wonder,” Sherlock said in the same dreamy tone as before. 

John huffed. “Look, Sherlock, I understand you’re a powerful man, but don’t you think that aloof attitude of yours is a little over the top?”

He allowed himself a moment of visual appreciation of the man’s looks, those cheekbones that no man should have the right to have, the carefully upturned collar of his coat. 

“With you being all mysterious – people might get suspicious!”

Sherlock’s response was one of his usual disdain. “People do little else.” 

Their moment of peace ended as the scales spurted to life. One by one, they all inclined to one side, indicating the farther end of the room. From the shadows there, something like a growl was heard – animalistic, bone marrow chilling sound. 

Dr. Anderson looked up, perhaps lulled into a sense of security by the relative easiness with which their last demon could be warded off, because he announced: “Whatever be it, I will vanquish this one.”  
Sherlock observed the movements of the scales with narrowed eyes and John could swear he saw his lips curling back for a second, barring a pair of sharp canine teeth, as he murmured to himself: “This could be problematic.”

And then all rational thoughts in his head simply vanished when a figure of a giant, red glowing hound slowly stepped out of the shadows and crouched in the middle of the room. On the verge of a heart attack, John only vaguely registered the horrified gasps of the others, Soo-Lin’s despaired little cry of “Oh no, it’s Shan!” 

Then the forcibly quiet voice of Sherlock grounded him and cleared his head a bit. “It’s a fear demon,” Sherlock said. “The personification of one’s deepest dreads.”

“What shall we do?” John heard himself ask. 

“I know this one!” Dr. Anderson turned to them confidently. “I’ve read about it in folklore tales. It will ask you what you fear most. It isn’t going to kill us; it just wants to frighten us.”

“You underestimate the power of fear so severely,” Sherlock murmured again, but didn’t object otherwise. John watched the hound’s fiery gaze survey them one by one. He wondered what it was that the other saw. The hound then settled at Lestrade and growled: 

“What it is that you fear?”

The DI’s voice was cold and calculated. “Nothing. Ever since I’ve earned myself my badge, I have served the law. I put the bad guys where they belong. And I swear, if I had my gun with me right now–”

The hound barked once and everyone froze. Lestrade looked around. There was no one near him – but he started to back off, murmuring: “You...? But you’re dead!”

Eyes flicking from place to place like he was looking for a way to escape, he lifted his arms in defense, almost tripped over his own feet, and a torrent of babbled explanations spilled out of his mouth– “That wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t know it was a frame, I was only doing my job, I had to follow regulations–”

At last he screamed and dropped to the floor, out like the proverbial light. 

“I suppose that means he was lying when he said he feared nothing.” Anderson said feebly.

“At some point in the past, he must have unjustly arrested someone – who perhaps committed suicide later, because of the effect on their reputation.” John didn’t ask how Sherlock knew that. Sherlock often simply knew things he wasn’t supposed to know. Right now, John was rather sorry for Lestrade.

“It must have haunted him ever since.”

“Do you go crazy when you lie to it?” Andy asked.

“As it appears, you are shown your worst fears. So it doesn’t matter whether you lie or tell the truth.”   
“When your fear lies within you, no one else can help,” Sherlock added gravely. 

The hound turned to John: “What do you fear most?”

“Well, right now I fear you the most!” The memory of Baskerville was still etched in his brain like an acid burn. He swallowed forcibly. 

“Um, you see, nothing ever happens to me. I have an ordinary life and most of the time it’s all fine but what I really fear is that I should die without ever experiencing something... really exciting. And accomplishing something, too, I never was that much into Queen and Country but it would still be nice to be needed, to do something worthy...”

He didn’t even finish when the hound barked. John felt as if an icicle went eight through his chest. When he opened his eyes, he saw a village street, walls of white-washed concrete reflecting the heat of scorching sun, he smelled gunpowder and sweat and dirt, he heard the rattle of gunshots and some shouts in an unknown dialect, he wore his Father’s RAMC combat gear and before he had the time to look around, he heard a warning shout– too late– and a blinding pain seared through his shoulder and knocked him to the ground. He breathed in the street dust and felt the gurgle of blood spilling in his lung, and as he closed his eyes against the white sun and red pain and hollow despair he whispered: Please, God, let me live. 

When he came around he realised that his fall was intercepted by a pair of surprisingly strong arms, and as he struggled for his consciousness, he sobbed wildly: “I don’t want to die like that.” He shuddered and clutched his shoulder against the phantom pain still lingering there, afraid to ever close his eyes again should the desert come back in his nightmares. 

“Calm down.” Sherlock pulled him into a tight embrace. “All the demon shows is an illusion. Your true self does not change.”

John thought he saw a look of genuine concern on Sherlock’s usually impassive face, and for a second he caught a glimpse of human heart behind that formidable mind. Well, for that it was worthy, he thought, a warm feeling around his heart, and he tapped the arm that supported him in an unspoken thank you. 

Dr. Anderson cleared his throat and fidgeted nervously: “I suppose I’m next.” 

“What do you fear most?”

Anderson looked – embarrassed, when he answered: “I–I–I suppose that I’m really afraid that my wife founds out about my...um, you know. My affairs.” 

He’s just lying, John thought. They watched the flustered doctor look up, a surprised smile on his lips, as he said to someone only he could see: “Hun? What are you doing here?” 

Then the smile was wiped from his face. His jaw dropped and he stuttered: “Is – is that your–” and then several emotions chased across his face – shock, disbelief, betrayal, disgust – and Dr. Anderson took a couple of wobbly steps and retched violently.

Sherlock remarked acerbically: “Seems like Mr. Anderson is not the only spouse with a dirty secret.” 

Sadly, Andy was too nervous to appreciate the joke. “Of the three of us, who will have to answer next?” 

Sherlock stood up and stepped forth, his movements and his tone imperious: “Ask me. I will answer.”

The nerve of this man, John thought. His shoulder still ached. 

“What it is that you fear most?” The hound howled. 

Sherlock looked him straight in the eyes and replied: “What I fear most is the knowledge that the edge of this world exists without Form, Truth, or Regret.” 

The eyes of the hound flashed with hellish light. 

Sherlock remained standing, almost motionless at first. Then he lifted his hand and looked at them with an expression of slight incredulity on his face that slowly faded into resignation. He went on standing like a statue for a couple of heartbeats when John whispered “Sh-Sherlock?” and went in front of him to look in his face – and John’s heart nearly stopped for the second time that evening. Sherlock’s eyes, the most breathtakingly alive thing John ever saw, were staring back at him devoid of life. John reached out for Sherlock’s hand to checks his pulse, half expecting not to find any, when Sherlock snapped back to awareness. His eyes refocussed and a single tear fell down his face.

“There would be no reason for me to exist,” he whispered. John squeezed his hand wordlessly. 

“What do you truly fear?” The hound barked and Andy all but jumped. He was sweating with nervousness and dread when he answered:

“What I truly fear is–” His eyes widened and he couldn’t help not to look at Soo-Lin desperately “–what I truly fear is Soo-Lin Yao.”

She stared ahead of herself, oblivious to how everyone gaped and took a step away from her.

“I mean – she’s wonderful, and I’m absolutely crazy over her, but – but – so many strange things has happened and – we were sitting at this lecture, in the back row, and at one point I fell asleep–” 

Dr. Anderson has recovered enough to make an outraged face on hearing this but he didn’t interrupt Andy as he continued apologetically “–but only lightly, and when I woke up, Soo-Lin was just settling in her chair, that means she must have got up before, she was the only one who could tamper that lock...”

“That is true.” Soo-Lin nodded resignedly.

“I’m sorry I betrayed you.” Andy was nearly weeping. Lestrade, on the other hand, was furious. 

“Why did you do that?”

Soo-Lin recited her words like a machine. “I did not want to involve you all. But it was the only way I could get near the artifacts Dr. Anderson brought in for his lecture. He thinks they are just superstitious knick-knacks, but some of them are truly powerful. I wanted to get the hairpin to protect myself from the demon that haunts me.”

“You are trembling,” Sherlock observed. “What could possibly terrify you so much? Demon, ask your question!”

Only Sherlock could order a demon and get away with it, John thought. 

“What do you fear? What is it?”

“For endless count of days, I’ve trembled in fear every time I’ve thought of it. It is... the ghost of my brother who sacrificed his life so I could live free.” 

The hound turned away and vanished. Again, the sound of chains was heard. For some reason, Soo-Lin seemed terrified to the core by it. 

“I didn’t know you had a brother – you never talked of him! What happened?” 

Above them, shadows coiled together and formed a vague shape of a spider that started to crawl the ceiling and weave a web. On a marble statue in the corner of the room, a yellow stripe across her eyes appeared. Sherlock’s sword clinked and the smile of the dragon on its sheath grew a little wider. 

“The demon’s Form has arrived,” Sherlock whispered.


	4. Part 3

“The demon’s Form has arrived,” whispered Sherlock. His fox-like eyes shone.

“Oh, let them come. For my invitation is what they fear the most.”

 

***

 

Six people sat in a darkened lecture room and watched each other. On the ceiling, the spider’s web was half-finished. Every portrait hanging on the walls had a yellow stripe across their eyes. The scales settled in front of the woman. Soo-Lin began recounting her story. 

“Liang – my brother – and I were twins. With the Chinese one child policy, our parents were never well off, and when they died in a street accident, we were orphaned at the age of fifteen. There was really not much choice, where we lived. Either you worked for the bosses or you starved on the streets like beggars. My brother could find a job, but there’s no livelihood for an orphaned underage girl aside from illegal brothels. So I became a smuggler for the Black Lotus, a crime syndicate.”

She put her right foot up on her opposite knee, unlaced her shoe and took it off. Right under her ankle, there was a tattoo of a chain, bound around the ankle. 

“Every foot soldier bears the mark.”

“The sign of slavery,” Sherlock remarked. His eyes were fixed on the sword, waiting for more clues. 

“There were actual chains, you know. At the beginning.” She covered her ears as the distant sound of chains filled the air again. 

“They’d do everything to break you, to make you their puppet. Shan – the general – she’s a cruel woman. 

“As children, Liang and I were very close. They say that twins share a soul, we got along so well. Perhaps too well. For me to join the Black Lotus, it meant our ways would be separated.   
My brother wouldn’t hear of it. He tried to dissuade me from it. He wanted to keep me, but how, when his job paid off hardly to keep him from starvation? What was I supposed to do?”

She paused. “I changed my name, I tried to forget him. I told myself he’d be better off without the burden of keeping me. I’ve submerged myself in the organisation, I bore through things that would make others go crazy. And yet, every day, I wanted to be with my brother. I dreamed of him every day.

“But I knew that it was impossible. I imagined that, one day, my brother would want to marry. It would be the reasonable thing to do.” Resentment crept into her voice.

“I couldn’t accept it.” 

Andy gasped: “You mean–”   
Soo-Lin turned to him: “I’m sorry, Andy. I tried to warn you off, repeatedly. I didn’t want you to fall in love with me. I’m unworthy of your feelings.”

“But what happened to your brother that he became a ghost?” John tried to get her back on the track. 

“Three years after I became Black Lotus’ soldier, the organisation gained notoriety. The smuggling business became increasingly difficult. More than half of the foot agents were caught. I was getting afraid. Then, one day, I came home to find my brother waiting for me. He found me.”

She sighed regretfully. “He was such a gorgeous young man. I should have never seen him.

“At any rate, I suddenly felt I couldn’t live in that danger any more. I was so afraid that I would get caught, and too terrified to quit the organisation. They never let you really leave, you know. There was another job for me imminent, a large amount of drugs, and I simply knew that this time, it would be the time I would get caught.

“My brother saw my cowardice, and he took pity in me. He said: ‘I will carry that in your place, sister. You can take the money and escape to Europe. Nobody would suspect me of smuggling, and I could join you later, I have enough money saved for both of us.’

“Of course I told him that I couldn’t accept his proposition. But when the hour came for me to take over the package, he spoke to me again. ‘There’s no life for me in this world when you’re not in it. If you should go to prison for life, I would have nothing to live for. I dreamed of you every day you were away. I’d rather die than to watch you go waste as a slave.’

Tears streamed freely down her cheeks. Sherlock eyed the silent sword distrustfully. 

“I couldn’t believe it. My forbidden feelings for him – it was mutual! After he told me, we should have escaped together. I was simply too afraid. I let him carry out his plan, and it went horribly wrong. He was caught, he was sent to jail, and he was killed there in a brawl during a prisoner mutiny, all within two months. I wanted to take my own life, but I was too frightened to do even that. I came to England.”

She took a deep breath. “They gave me a job here. Everything was good; a new life.”

John: “Then he began to haunt you.”

Soo-Lin nodded. “To punish me for my fear.”

“Poor bastard,” Lestrade muttered.

“Wrong.” Sherlock announced loudly. A choir of “What?” echoed in reaction. 

“It was not the vengeance of your brother that brought forth the demon on you. That is not the Truth. What is the spider above us? What are you hiding in a web of lies? You weren’t afraid of your brother – you feared your own heart. Fear gave rise to fear, and soon they became a shadow, dark beyond human understanding. It separated from you, at yet it never left you completely. The Truth is you!”

The dragon head on the sword sheath clicked its teeth in approval. 

Soo-Lin slowly rose to her feet. Half of her face was contorted with dread, the other half still as if carved from marble stone. A wisp of dark smoke began to spill out of the dead eye-socket. She put a hand to her face in an attempt to cover it and when she parted her lips to scream, another stream of venomous smoke escaped her mouth. Everyone scrambled as far as they could to get away from her. Sherlock stood there, holding the sword like a challenge. 

“Your brother has not become a demon, he sacrificed his life willingly. The demon is a part of yourself that you’ve kept hidden all your life. 

“I have to ask you, Soo-Lin.” He put stern seriousness in every word. “To kill this demon would mean cutting your very soul. It would mean the return of your real feelings, those you’ve denied for so long that they caused your soul to split in two. Do you still wish it?” 

Soo-Lin’s body swayed from side to side as if she was in a fit. Only one half of her body was controlled though, the other arm and leg were limp; half of her face was darkened beyond recognition. The dark cloud coalesced into a vague figure of Soo-Lin’s height, but of a male shape – it lifted its arm as if it tried to take her by the hand. She recoiled from it. 

Suddenly, John was under the impression that he could hear a voice – like of a young man, similar in intonation to the normal speaking voice of Soo-Lin Yao. The shadow spoke. 

“Sister, I’m so glad to see you!”

The black part of Soo-Lin’s face moved on its own accord and a horrible, sneering voice came out of her mouth:

“If only I could get rid of them. Why should I rot in jail. I could live a prosperous life somewhere, why do I have to throw everything away like that?” 

The shadow didn’t seem to hear that. “I’ll go in your place, sister.” 

“I’m so sorry,” said the sound part of Soo-Lin, full of tears, while the black one cried out exhilarated: “I’m saved! Is he an idiot?” 

“Before I go, I wish only one thing.” The shadow touched her white face in a loving caress.   
Her dark face went on spitting venom: “What is it, money? If I had any, I wouldn’t be in such a mess in the first place!”

“I always wanted to be with you. If you should go to prison for life, I would have nothing to live for.” The shadow made of smoke thinned and vanished. 

Soo-Lin regained full power over her body and covered her face. “My brother...loved me. I did not really ever love him. I knew nothing at all. Not even the joy of being loved.” 

She turned to Sherlock: “Please. Kill it.” 

The sword roared with delight and sprung from its sheath. 

There was no way to describe properly what John saw for the second time of his life, a Sword of Exorcism released. There was no blade. It changed Sherlock himself, his black locks turning white, his pale skin darkening, his eyes glowing with golden fire. He stood there bigger, stronger, and as he grabbed the sheath, a glittering flame came out of it, consuming everything in its path. They were one, the Sword and the Exorcist, and John understood that Sherlock might have been on the side of humans but nobody could for one second think that he was one of them. The demons feared Sherlock so much because he was one of them. 

When all was over, John crawled close to check on her unconscious body: “She’ll be fine. She’s breathing.”

“She looks so young...” Dr. Anderson observed.

“It looks like she’s... smiling? I never saw her smiling before,” Andy said. 

Sherlock picked the mechanic lock of the door. It opened with a loud creak. 

“All the time – you could have done that any time!” John didn’t know if he had any more energy for a proper angry fit. “There was no need for us to go through this!”

“And let you miss the adventure?” Sherlock smirked.

John folded his arms. “Still a bit not good, Sherlock.”

Later that night, John found himself falling into step with a tall, dark figure of Sherlock Holmes at his side. 

“So...” Sherlock smiled widely, showing just a hint of his canine teeth. “Aren’t you, by any chance, looking for a flat share?” 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, if they happen, will be appreciated and cherished.


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